


Dagr and Nótt

by Guts



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guts/pseuds/Guts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sif and Loki need each other like holes in the head, like a cat needs fleas and like a king needs enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dagr and Nótt

**Author's Note:**

> Haha wow. Hi. I wrote this and its very much influenced by everything I've read here, but it is my own twist. So some notes, Ymir or whatever was the big papa frost giant, I think Odin came from him? Ragnarok is the apocalypse, Valhalla is where honorable people go when they die. I made up all the book stuff about Thor, as far as i actually know they let wolves raise him or bears, i do not know. I assume its called a palace, I also dont know??? oh no?? Dagr and Nott are day and night, ones male the other is female. I am not well researched, Charlie Kelly voice: Im so sorry. Anyways let me know what you think!

"A coward, I think, that he seeks the company of paper and ink more earnestly than ours.” Sif sniffs.  
Her elbows are bloodied from fighting, and Thor knows she is only insulted and not truthfully aggrieved at Loki.  
The courtyard around them is brown dirt in the sun, and a Sif’s face is dirtied from wrestling.  
When they were younger, Loki would join them, to goad Thor and trick Sif into losing by mocking her.  
He even would fight with them, on the odd occasion, but was always a sore loser.  
A sore loser, with magic.  
But now, he keeps company with the great scripts and volumes in the library.

It is puzzling to Thor that his brother seeks out the very thing he runs from most fervently.  
“I do not want to read!” He says disgusted, when his brother bid him come read by his side.  
Though it is a rare thing for his brother to ask Thor near him in any way, Thor had his face smashed into books by tutors and scholars for the required amount of time in his childhood.  
Princes need learn of diplomacy, history and general knowledge. After this point, their studies are theirs as is their name.  
“I shall be the wise prince, between us,” Loki says dryly, regarding Thor lazily. 

“And I the handsome prince, a title I accept most readily, and have since birth.” Thor laughs. 

“A handsome oaf is only an oaf, Thor. There is no wise oaf.”  
Loki turns his page uninterested, but Thor knows he is wanting to fight.  
His tongue ties at these times.  
He is slower with his words, his sword barely drawn where Loki’s is buried in his heart.  
Loki gives in and looks at Thor,  
“Well? What say you, golden one? No wise words, oaf prince? “

“Snake!” Thor bellows, boxing Loki’s ears.  
His mothers’ magic, or Loki’s, he cannot tell, throws a book on etiquette at them and he releases Loki’s red ears. 

“You great lout!” Loki cries, but Thor thinks he says it fondly. 

The sky of Asgard is pink and dusk outside the window.  
Loki is cast half in shadow and light, the blunt green of his eyes in the shade glower, but the light hits him white and fair.  
His eye cast in the light is sewed through with dying light; he looks a sorcerer, a prince, and a brother. 

A boy who will be something. 

Sif and Loki are arguing the way a cat plays at a dog.  
“You great horses ass!” Sif says angrily, her hard jaw thrust out at Loki. 

“At least I do not look like the horses face.” Loki supplies, mouth drawn down. 

“Ha! I shall bite you with my great horses teeth and you shall be missing fingers! For, you may act as a prince, but you are nothing more than a common fool. You are a greedy boy, Loki Son of Odin, and I do not like you one bit.”  
These are daring words from a lady, not a Goddess or princess.  
Sif is only a lady.  
Loki has gone quite white in the face, but his ears and fingers are red. 

“You dare?” He says finally,  
“You dare call me such names when I come from a family that will wipe their boots with you, you are only a dog to a family, Sif.”

He spits this out and watches Sif.  
Thor thinks him a cat, with its tail swinging, wanting to raise blood from Sif’s nose with a swift swipe.

“A dog I might be, but watch my teeth, my prince for they are surely close. My bark is a whisper next to my bite, should you like to try my words.” Sif smiles, but it is more a baring of teeth than an invitation of friendship. 

“My lady is surely a creature of fantastic lengths. Horse and dog teeth, you must not have room in your mouth for such great fangs. But I fear no chimera, and I do not fear you, you great, sad, beast that could do less harm to me than a rock.”

Sif crouches, drawing her sword out.  
“A rock could bust your thick skull open, I would wager. But then again, one must consider how thick is it. Has Odin been known to bed daughters of Ymir? For you are surely thick enough in the skull to be partially a giant.”

Loki does not like this and Sif is flat on her back, her sword magicked to her throat.  
The blade inches away from her throat.

“Does the Lady Sif give?”

Sifs eyes are wide as dinner plates and angry.  
“I said,”  
The sword draws blood, a drop of red.  
“Does the Lady Sif regret her words?”

His voice has gone soft, something they all are uncomfortable by.  
“What are they fighting over, by any matter?”  
Fandral whispers to Thor.  
The warriors three had joined Thor midthrough the argument, drawn by the noise. 

“He stole her dinner again.” Thor whispers back, his forehead is creased in a way that means he is worried.

A feat for the unwrinkled, worry free son of Odin. 

Sif on the ground, feels her hair ground in the dirt and smacks her heels in the dirt angrily,  
“Sorcery is not fair, Loki Odinson.” She yells from the ground.

But she is already defeated, and Loki laughs unkindly.  
“Rules were never established, nor was sorcery ever anything but a weapon. I should think you would need this piece of skin called your throat,”

Sif spits at him, but unable to raise her head, it makes a weak arc several feet from him.  
“Sif? Am I wrong? Would you have me rip it out and feed it to the palace dogs, your brothers.” Sif chokes lightly and Thor is upon them, shouting.  
“Enough! Peace!”  
Thor is shoving and disengaging and there is a scuffle when Sif locks her hand into Lokis hair and can only be unlocked when Loki brings his knee smartly up to her breastplate.  
Then Sif is gone, in a flash of golden hair and stomping.  
“You fight like cats and dogs!” Thor says, shaking his big head. Loki stands by him unhappily, his hair messed and only a little shorter than him. 

“You should not provoke her so.”  
Thor pushes, patting Loki on the shoulder reprovingly.  
“I was merely curious.” Loki speaks abruptly.  
“Well, for Valhalla’s sake, we would never want to see you angry then, “ Volstagg laughs. Clomping Loki on the shoulder as he goes past him. 

“Was it satiated, brother? Did you learn more facts for your books?” Thor asks, teasing. 

Loki looks down. Something faint on his mouth, a smile, a grimace.  
“Yes.” He says quietly. Thor leaves him to his thoughts. 

Sif and Loki skulk around each other for the next month, sarcastic titles and quietly insulting remarks traded between them.

“The lovebirds.” Frigga says teasingly to them, when they exchange words over a leg of pig at a feast. 

They cease their words immediately and shove the leg away, as if on fire.

“I would never wed such a frightening girl, lest I were to make my home in the great woods.” Loki says.  
“You would never survive the night. The foxes would feast on you, the moment you stepped into the forest.” Sif sniffs and sips at her goblet only to choke and spit out blood.

Loki smiles at her.  
“I may lack prowess with a blade, lady, but know that the foxes would never dare even look at me lest I string them up with a mere flick of my fingers.”  
He puts his hand on his jaw and rests his elbow on the table, eyes crinkling. 

Sif looks at her goblet of blood, annoyed.  
“Whats the matter, my lady? I imagined that such a great warrior would drink blood thrice a day.” 

Frigga looks at them and they stop their words. Loki drops his gaze.

The great queen’s face tilts up.  
“If you have nothing to say kindly, you will both be excused. Your table manners will be improved next time. And dearest, you will not use your tricks to antagonize ladies.”  
They mutter apologies to the queen and leave red faced.

 

“Do not think, I cannot hear you prowling outside my door like a great, ugly tom cat.”  
Sif says to her doorway and Loki looks feverishly in at her.  
“How did you know it was me?” he asks suspiciously.

“The stench.” Sif whispers, smiling. 

“Magic yourself away, Odinson, for you have already ground my face into the dirt. I am not well known for losing a fight twice.” 

Sif turns her face away. Her room in the palace is bare, and dimly lit. Her face harsh and her hair like gold. 

Loki cannot look at her, he thinks. For she is made of gold and makes him feel cheap.  
“Metaphorically, yes. But I still await the day I literally grind your face in the dirt.” He says lightly.  
“Do not play, Loki! Your mother would have us to be friendly to the other, and you only promote me my thirst for blood.” 

“It is late and I am sleeping, what are you skulking about for?”  
Her great dark eyes are serious and her hair unbound. 

“You are not asleep.” Loki says.  
“Am too.” Sif lays her head on her pillow, her hands under her face as a child would and imitates snoring.  
“Have I fooled you, or would you a more dramatic rendering to make you leave?”  
“I come for a favor.” He says carefully.  
“I do not believe or trust you, you who would grind my face in the dirt.” Sif sits up and folds her arms defiantly. 

“Would you not we be friends, my lady? Goodwill and trust are the messengers of friendship. The cornerstones to pleasing my mother, the great queen.” He has, surprisingly gotten her there. His mother who approved Sif to battle and fight and act as a boy would. Frigga, who Sif loves and respects in her harsh way,

“You are regretfully right, what would your favor of me be? Ask and I will act upon it as well as I may.”

“Gracious indeed, Sif. I ask only, you close your eyes.”  
“I do not like the sound of this, Son of Frigga.” 

“Nor shall my mother like the sound of your refusal of my olive branch. Do as I ask, would you think so angrily that I would feed you a toad?”  
“No, I suppose not.” Sif says warily and closes her eyes, 

“Do not peek.”  
His sorcery, light and green in his fingers shoots through her hair.  
Chops of it fall in great waves on the bed and if Sif has realized his trickery, she does not say. 

When a great golden curl falls on her lap, her dark eyes open, though.

And Loki expects anger and a fight, everything he deserves.

She is crying.  
Her eyes shining and her lips curling.  
“Get out or I will kill you, I swear it.” She says, her hair wild and sticking.

Loki, in all his wickedness fears her, fears her pain and retreats like a shadow.

He does not regret his actions. She is war and he wants a battle. He wants to gamble with his life, he wants back the thought of her head grating into the ground. He wants to put his booted feet on her bare hands and break them into dust.  
He thinks she does not sleep. For when she joins them in the courtyard the next morning,  
Her eyes are darker somehow and she looks as if she wants very much to rip his throat out with her teeth.  
“What is this, Sif? Have you finally grown tired of our tugging on your braids or were you so angered at losing matches due to unfair fighting that you cut it off?” Thor asks, loud and laughing. Towering over Sif, suddenly small and fragile next to hulking Thor. Thors big hand ruffles her short, rough hair. His hand able to cradle her skull.  
“Do not touch me lest I do the same to yours, you unruly boy!” Sif snaps and crosses her arms.  
“I am not a lady of Asgard, do not think I will continue to wear my hair as one.”  
“You look yourself.” Hogun says, Sif stares at him.  
“What would I take that to mean, friend?” she asks sharply.  
Hoguns eyes crinkle.  
“Only that it suits you, my friend.” 

Her hair is coming in darker, brown and black.  
Sif will not look at Loki. As they head to the stables to ride, he accidentally knocks his elbow withers. She looks up at him sharply.  
“Watch yourself, you clumsy ass.” She snaps.  
And Loki cannot conjure words.  
“Only if you will yourself, your newly shorn lack of weight must have you unbalanced for I swear that it was you that tripped into me.” 

Sif goes red.

“You will leave us, for I wish to have a private discussion with Loki.” She shouts, eyes locked on Loki’s. 

“Do not level Asgard, I beg. Do not fight either, I cannot bear to hear another reprimand from mother on your churlish behavior toward the other.”  
Thor says good-naturedly. 

“I only ask you pick out her burial casket, brother.” Loki calls. 

Thor and the others are now a good ten feet away but Thor bellows back that he likes when Loki calls him brother.  
“I should do it less often, then. “ Loki says to himself.

“Where will you go, son of Odin?” Sif begins, smiling. Loki shoots out a tendril of magic but she feints right and below.  
She stands straight and smiles thinly at him,  
“None of that now, I think I know your tricks, your pretenses of friendship.”  
Loki sneers.  
“Do you Sif? Do you? You act as if you do, yet I am able to take victory and virtues away from you so easily.”

Sif laughs,  
“Do not think my belief in you, time and time again, due to anything more than my trust in your brother. I would cross oceans for Thor and none at all for you.”  
“Not even a puddle?” Loki asks, mockingly.  
She is faster than he thought and snaps up against him, one hand on his skinny neck, trying to break it, he thinks from her grip and the other holding a dagger to his head.  
“Is this how you kill common animals, Sif? Will you kill a prince of Asgard like a great bear or deer?” 

“You deserve less.” Sif says.  
Her breath is abominable and she is so close, her eyelash brushes his nose.  
“I think you would cross oceans as well as hallways in the dark of night for my brother.” Loki hisses. 

The sun in the sky beats down upon him.  
“Vulgar snake. I love him and he will be my king. You pedantic child, you only play at sorcery. You are the child of Ragnarok, you are destruction and hate and all the things I will destroy. I respect you less than my enemies and will kill you like one, the moment you show your true colors. “

“Pretty words,” Loki says, his teeth show hungrily.  
“They are not words but promises, I will not make it quick.” Sif is pushing her dagger into his head a little and his head swims. 

He wants Thor to come back; he wants to put Sif in the ground. 

 

“You child.” He says and kisses her full on the mouth, her breath atrocious and she snorts out her nose in surprise. 

“It is you who is the child!” she shouts, red faced and runs from him.  
He is charmed by her easy blush and dissidence from violence


End file.
